


Illuminate

by Freakierthanthou



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Breathplay, Consent, D/s undertones, Fingering, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mythology - Freeform, PWP, Slapping, What Is Wrong With ME, domjolras, only porn, seriously there is no plot in this whatsoever, subtaire, why am i posting this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-24
Updated: 2013-07-24
Packaged: 2017-12-21 06:11:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/896774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Freakierthanthou/pseuds/Freakierthanthou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based off a prompt on makinghugospin. "Enjolras has a pair of nice black leather gloves. When he wears them, it <em>does things</em> to Grantaire."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Illuminate

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry.

The first time Enjolras wore the gloves, it was winter. The fire was burning bright in the hearth, and Grantaire was occupied teasing their newest member, a boy named Marius who was too easy a target for his own good. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw them. 

They were black, made of some fine leather, clinging to the gentle curvature of Enjolras's long fingers like a lover might. He flexed his hands for warmth as he spoke, and the gloves followed him, casting shadows across the table from the candles. 

Grantaire swallowed hard. He had to look away and force himself to think about the argument that Combeferre and Courfeyrac were holding over the charter in order to will his erection to subside. 

When he dared to look back up, he saw that Enjolras was staring at him. The blond smiled, curled his fingers into a fist, and did not look away until Grantaire did. 

Grantaire was the last to leave that night. He found that he could not stand without making his desire evident, so he lingered as the others drifted off. 

Enjolras lingered too. 

“You were staring at me today,” he said. He was sitting behind Grantaire, at another table, and Grantaire didn't risk looking at him. 

“I always stare at you, dear leader,” he replied. “You are the guiding light of our merry band of revolutionaries, we all look to you to illuminate the dark corners of our minds and our hearts.” 

“You stare more than the others.”

“Perhaps the corners of my mind and my heart are darker than theirs. A veritable path to Hades, one might even call it, in which case you would be the light by which Orpheus took his fateful glance and lost the love of his life. For shame, light! You have lost the world Eurydice, much as the sun killed Icarus, as the chariot of Helios was the downfall of Phaeton. Illumination is the greatest tragedy of man.” 

“Do you ever stop talking?” Enjolras's voice was amused, and far closer than it had been before. As the thought occurred to him, Grantaire could feel warm breath on his cheek. He sat rigid and unmoving, sure that his heartbeat would drown out any words he might dare to speak. 

“It seems I have left you speechless, for once,” Enjolras said. “Perhaps all you needed was a little control.” 

Those fingers, wrapped tight in the cool leather of his gloves, wrapped around Grantaire's throat. They held him loosely, not enough to choke, but the tips of Enjolras's fingers twitched, in desire or threat. 

“Tell me to stop,” Enjolras murmured. 

Grantaire breathed out. “Please,” he whispered, and the fingers loosened. “Don't stop.” 

Enjolras froze. “What?” 

“Enjolras, please.” His voice was high and broken. Grantaire hadn't even been touched below the neck, barely touched there at that, but he was so hard it hurt, and he was already begging. “Don't stop. Choke me, beat me, do what you want with me, please.”

“And will you be satisfied?” Enjolras hissed the question in his ear, his voice low and dangerous, and Grantaire shivered. 

“Enjolras,” he gasped, and the fingers around his neck tightened.

Grantaire's vision blurred. Enjolras had both hands on him now, holding his throat in a tight grip, and he gasped for air without meaning too. 

His weak struggles seemed to please the man behind him, and Enjolras ground his hips against his back as he choked him. Grantaire tried to groan, his own erection pressed flush against his trousers, but he couldn't find his voice. His throat twitched under the tight grip of cool leather against his skin.

“You never answered my question.” Enjolras's voice was low, his lips nearly pressed against the patch of skin behind Grantaire's ear as he spoke. “Will you be satisfied? If I choke you, beat you, use you as I desire, and then leave you here, gasping for air on the dirty floor, with no attention, no release?” His grip tightened, his fingers lacing together, dark leather against pale skin. 

“Perhaps you would like that,” he said. “Is this what you want, Grantaire? To be made to beg for your own debasement? Answer me.” 

One hand was removed from Grantaire's throat, the other loosened. He could breathe now, take short gasps, but they were painful and restricted by the fingers wrapped in black. The other hand traveled down to his groin, massaging the bulge in his trousers through the fabric, and Grantaire gasped as best he could around the human vise that held his neck. 

“Answer me,” Enjolras repeated. He was thrusting in earnest now, his erect cock rutting against Grantaire's body as one gloved hand jerked the other man off through his trousers.

“Please,” Grantaire said. He could hardly manage the breath to speak, and each syllable was torn from his already aching throat. “Enjolras, please!” 

“That's a good boy.” He felt Enjolras's tongue against his jaw, possessive and demanding. “Come for me.” 

Grantaire came. If the leather grip around his neck hadn't been tightened just then, he was sure he would have screamed. Enjolras kept up the pace with his other hand, tearing the aftershocks out of Grantaire's body. He showed no mercy until Grantaire sagged, barely conscious, against him, Enjolras's firm body at his back and the black fingers around his neck the only things keeping him upright. 

Both of the hands were off him now, and even as he took deep, gasping breaths, Grantaire whined in displeasure at the deprivation. But Enjolras wasn't done with him. He held Grantaire up, turned him around, and undid the laces of his own trousers. Grantaire felt the cool leather of one glove around his own hand as it was placed on Enjolras's hard cock.

He moved like he was in a dream, his hand rough against the other man's sensitive prick, but his fingers were nimble and his eyes nearly as dark as the black leather still wrapped around his hand. In the fading candlelight, he watched Enjolras's reactions, the shuddering of his muscles and the flickering of his eyelids as Grantaire brought him to orgasm. 

They were both shaking when it was over, still mostly clothed, only touching where Grantaire's pale hand was gripped by Enjolras's tight leather gloves. For a long moment, neither of them moved. Then, Grantaire felt Enjolras squeeze his hand as he bent down to kiss him.

“Thank you,” Enjolras murmured. He hesitated for a moment, almost vulnerable, before adding, “are you alright?” 

Grantaire touched his neck, still sensitive from Enjolras's grip, and he knew there would be bruises tomorrow, that he would have to lie to explain it, and suddenly he was standing, his hand still held tight in Enjolras's, and kissing him again, teeth and tongue and naked desire. Enjolras kissed him back and gripped his hair in one gloved hand.

*

After that, Enjolras only had to wear the gloves and Grantaire knew to stay behind, to tend to his desires. He wondered if the others could smell him on Enjolras when he wore the gloves, the sharp taste of his come. Grantaire knew the taste because Enjolras often made him lick it off. 

Tonight, Enjolras had brought a small vial of oil with him, and he waited until the others were gone before he held his hand out to Grantaire. 

Grantaire buried his face in that palm, the slick, cold leather familiar against his skin. Enjolras stroked his hair with his other hand, absently. 

“Open your mouth,” he said. 

There was nothing for Grantaire to do but obey. Enjolras smiled at his thoughtless obedience as he slipped two tightly wrapped digits into his mouth. It pleased him when Grantaire obeyed him so easily. 

“Good boy,” he whispered, and he could feel Grantaire's breath hitch at that. “You love this, don't you?”

Grantaire slid his mouth off his fingers long enough to say “yes.” His voice was breathless and weak, but he took Enjolras's fingers in his mouth again, sucking on the cool leather, wrapping his tongue around one digit and then another, hollowing out his cheeks as though he was sucking Enjolras's cock. 

“I'm going to fuck you tonight,” said Enjolras, and Grantaire shivered. “I'll work you open with my fingers, slick with your spit. You do love these gloves so, don't you? Or is it what I do to you when I wear them? Because I think you like it.” He added a third finger, then a fourth, stretching Grantaire's lips painfully. “I think you like the feel of it. Perhaps I'll get you a collar, leather like the gloves. You can wear it when we're alone, and I'll fuck you with it on. Would you like that?” 

He removed his fingers from Grantaire's mouth long enough to allow him to answer.

“Yes,” Grantaire gasped. “Enjolras, please. I'll do anything for you.” 

“You will, won't you.” Enjolras's tone was casual, far from cruel, and he laid his other hand on Grantaire's shoulder. “Stand up, and take off your clothes.”

Grantaire hurried to obey. He noticed out of the corner of his eyes that Enjolras was removing his cravat and waistcoat, leaving himself only in his shirtsleeves, trousers- and gloves. He smiled as he saw Grantaire, naked and hard but waiting patiently. 

“Lie on your back,” Enjolras murmured. “On the table.” 

Some time ago, it might have shamed Grantaire, to be lying naked on a table in the middle of their back room, legs spread, waiting for Enjolras to take him. But right now all he could think of was the way the light cast off those black gloves and Enjolras's face, high cheekbones and long nose casting shadows over his pale skin. 

Enjolras braced a hand against his hip, dipping the other hand in the vial of oil. Grantaire squirmed in anticipation. 

One finger slipped in his hole, working through the ring of tight muscle. Grantaire moaned and thrust back, fucking himself on Enjolras's gloved hand.

“No,” Enjolras said. His tone was warning enough, and Grantaire stilled. 

He sat, docile and obedient, while Enjolras worked a second finger in. He went slow, stretching Grantaire carefully, preparing him, watching him as he gasped and groaned in pleasure. The slick leather of his other hand stroked over Grantaire's hip almost absently. 

“Are you ready?” asked Enjolras, and Grantaire whimpered as he nodded. The fingers were removed, and he groaned in displeasure, his body nearly shaking with desire. Enjolras spread him further, his gloved hands tight against Grantaire's sensitive skin, as he pushed the head of his cock in. Grantaire repressed a shout of pleasure. 

Enjolras was painfully slow as he thrust in, giving Grantaire only a little, running his fingers over his thighs, making him shiver as he waited. By the time he was all the way in, thrusting in earnest, Grantaire was close to sobbing. 

Gloved hands wrapped around his aching cock, and Enjolras's warm mouth found his shoulder, kissing its way up to his neck. Grantaire was thrusting back, fucking himself on Enjolras, before their lips met. Enjolras swallowed his cries of pleasure. 

Grantaire came first, and he trembled while Enjolras finished inside of him. The gloves around his cock weren't moving anymore, but he was sensitive, overstimulated, and it would have hurt except for the way Enjolras kissed him, almost gentle. 

Enjolras wrapped his arms around him, helping him up. His shirt was soaked with sweat, his gloves sticky with Grantaire's release, and Grantaire couldn't help but wish he could see Enjolras like this every day. But for now, they were wrapped around each other, kissing lazily, and that was enough.

He was pleased with this, quiet and content, so he almost didn't hear what Enjolras murmured against his skin. 

“What was that?” Grantaire asked.

Enjolras almost looked embarrassed. “The table will not support our combined weight,” he said. “And it is uncomfortable besides. We cannot stay here all night. So come home with me.” 

Grantaire hardly dared to hope. “And tomorrow?” 

“Tomorrow,” Enjolras kissed him, “Tomorrow I am going to see how eloquent you are, with all your talk of illumination and the classics, with my fingers inside you.” 

(As it turned out, it took four fingers before Grantaire couldn't talk anymore, and it took Grantaire's breathy moans as he came, clutching at Enjolras's free hand, to make Enjolras stop looking so smug about it.)


End file.
